Rust is a contemporary movement improvisation romanticizing the process of oxidation.
Oxygen and water in their natural form come together to affect another natural element that's been sculpted with intention. This gentil collaboration over time builds a richness and texture. The structure corrodes, it evolves, slowly becoming that by which it's affected.
That whole idea is present in this piece. It's not about avoiding anything. It IS rust. It's romantic. It's not about decay but evolution and togetherness. Contact. A slowness that suggests a timelessness. It really is a beautiful concept to humanize.
About the now.
About the connection with who and what is around you. Pictured as a dive in the depths of a sun kissed universe, floating and discovering what more there is to what is now.
To cherish every single little moment and to not let it “rust”.
In dutch rust means rest. Peace and quiet without daily or technological distractions, but with a sole focus on the beauty of connection with your surroundings has never been so important.
(For I must change the strain--these are not to be
pensive leaves, but leaves of joy,)
Roots and leaves unlike any but themselves,
Scents brought to men and woman from the wild
woods, and from the pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love--fingers that wind
around tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage
of trees, as the sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love -- Breezes set from living
shores out to you on the living sea -- to you,
Frost mellowed berries, and Third Month twigs, offered
fresh to young persons wandering out in
the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will
open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you,
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will
become flowers, fruits, tall branches and trees,
They are comprised in you just as much as in themselves
-- perhaps more than in themselves,
They are not comprised in one season or succesion,
but many successions,
They have come slowly up out of the earth and me,
and are to come slowly up out of you."
Quoted of The Calamus Poems by Walt Whitman "Whitman's Men".